


maybe this time

by dramaturgicallycorrect



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, M/M, West Wing AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/pseuds/dramaturgicallycorrect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He realizes it may be minutes since he’s said anything, but he’s completely lost his train of thought. He doesn’t even remember what he was about to say and, for the first time in nearly six years, he has to glance down at this notes to jog his memory.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He doesn’t like being thrown off balance, hates it in fact, that he can be thrown at all and that Liam’s the one to do it. Liam’s always been the one to do it. </i>
</p><p><i>“I’m, um. The President, he,” Louis says, chancing a quick glance back up at Liam, who’s got his eyebrows quirked up and he looks far more amused than should be allowed. He can’t look at Liam, Liam’s making it about seventeen times worse, so he finds Niall at the back of the room. He can barely see Niall without his glasses, but he doesn’t have to to know that Niall is mouthing</i> what the fuck is wrong with you <i>at him.</i></p><p>[Or a West Wing AU where Louis is the White House Press Secretary and Liam has just returned from a four year long assignment, and they think maybe this time, they'll be lucky.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe this time

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to anyone who indulged me when I shouted about this on Tumblr - you're the reason I finished this. Many thanks to Bek, who provided the kindest encouragement. Also as always, especially special thanks to Jessi, who is always available to provide infallible wisdom at what seems to be every hour of the day.
> 
> You don't have to know The West Wing to read this, pinky swear!

Louis wishes he could ignore the buzzing, singing phone on his nightstand. Wishes he could keep his eyes closed and blindly slap at it until it stops buzzing and he can get back to sleep. Because today was supposed to be The Day. The one day this week he actually arrives at work on time like a normal human and not three hours early like an abnormal one.

When he first started, he used to hear phantom ringing at all hours of the night. He’d wake himself up thinking someone was calling and there was a national emergency to attend to. The phone was almost never ringing. Almost never. He was just afraid he’d sleep through it.

This morning it’s Bette Midler warbling at him _did you ever know that you’re my heeeerooooo?_ because Louis hasn’t changed his ringtone since Niall stole his phone about a week ago, the bastard. He doesn’t ever remember to change the ringtone back once he’s hung up until the next time it rings again.

“Yeah,” Louis says into the phone and listens impatiently for the operator to tell him the news. His face slowly falls as she talks. He thanks her for her time and hangs up, scrubbing his face with his hands. He takes a few seconds to mourn the loss of The Day. It had come down as a not-so-official Presidential mandate when Louis had nodded off during a debriefing with the Joint Chiefs and the staff had found out the hard way that Louis hadn’t slept in almost fifty hours at that point, hadn’t actually gone home in almost a week.

He throws a wistful glance back at his bed, sad to abandon it for who knows how long. Then he gets to work.

\--

“Alberto,” he greets the desk guard briefly as he flies past him over into the West Wing. He can vaguely hear Alberto grunt back, but that’s usually the extent of their conversations anyway. Louis keeps his face buried in his iPad more often than not and Alberto has matters of National Security to attend to. It’s a delicate and understanding relationship.

Niall’s asleep at his desk, his head nesting gently on his arms where he’s sort of curled up in a corner. He looks younger than he should when he’s asleep like this. Louis takes a moment to wonder if he’s not working Niall to the bone as well, if Niall thinks he’s wasting his life away instead of trying to get something out of his prime. The brown underneath his bottle blond hair is showing more than Louis’ ever seen it, which means he hasn’t been able to find time to get it dyed in months, and the bags under his eyes nearly run as deep as Louis’.

But he genuinely only takes a moment, because if Louis has to be awake then goddammit, so does Niall.

Louis wanders over to their reference shelf and browses the hundreds of titles. He decides on dropping a hardcover copy of the most recent national budget onto the desk, right by his head. Predictably, he flies up, sleepy-eyed but somehow still crazed looking. He blinks until he seems to focus on Louis. Niall’s features grow perplexed once he glances at the Washington DC clock on the wall.

“What are you doing here?” Niall croaks.

“I work here,” Louis says primly.

“But today was supposed to be The Day.”

“I know. And yet?”

“You’re still here early,” Niall confirms sadly.

“Haven’t you heard the news?”

Niall shakes his head, so Louis pulls up Twitter on his iPad and turns it around for him. Niall reads the tweets and a smile slowly starts to take over his face until Louis can tell he’s trying really hard not to openly laugh at the President of the United States.

“What the hell was the President doing playing golf?” Niall asks, following after Louis as he walks into his office.

“Who knows? He doesn’t have to pander to middle aged Republicans anymore,” Louis mutters as he settles in to login to his computer. “Maybe, god forbid, he _likes_ it. And even worse, he likes playing it at the literal asscrack of dawn.”

“I like golf,” Niall says as he flops down on one of Louis’ office chairs.

Louis looks up at him sharply. “You do not.”

Niall makes a face at him, unbecoming of a subordinate. “Yes, I do. We’ve had whole conversations about it.”

“I can talk about literally anything without consciously knowing what I’m talking about, Niall, you know this about me.”

“You’ve known me for six years.”

“And I never stop learning new things about you. Isn’t that beautiful, Niall?”

Niall just stares at him, his face worked into a scowl like he’s really disappointed at Louis. Louis doesn’t have time for that, certainly no time to admit that he’s done anything wrong. Golf is boring. Maybe this’ll teach Niall not to talk to him about it anymore.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Louis asks.

“Probably not.” Niall gets up from the chair anyway.

Louis chucks a pen at him, which is likely workplace harassment, but luckily he has the ear of the President and is basically untouchable in all things. The pen doesn’t even reach him anyway, Niall just dances away with a bark of laughter and a little crooning of Bette Midler and closes the door behind Louis so he can prepare his notes for his morning brief.

He has to rework his statement a good four times before it sounds like something professional and not, as the Chief of Staff kept describing it, a cheap summary of a Three Stooges sketch. There’s not much else he can do about the issue but sit on his hands and wait for more information.  The worst part’s always the waiting.

He barely makes it into the briefing room with seconds to spare, Niall handing him his iPad with his notes already pulled up on it before he swings the door open for Louis. Louis takes his position behind the podium and smiles out at the crowd.

“Good morning, my shining faces,” he greets them. “First order of business, tomorrow we are celebrating the August birthdays with donuts from District Doughnut, courtesy of your loving and attentive Office of the Press Secretary. Please use the signup form at the back of the room with Mr. Horan to indicate your preference by noon today. Anyone who does not indicate their preference will not receive a donut.”

He fixes them with a serious stare.

“Now we do this every month and yet there are still some people who tell me that they didn’t hear the message to go sign up for their donuts, so if you will all repeat after me. _I, an upstanding member of the White House Press Corps, understand that Louis Tomlinson, my very favorite-slash-only White House Press Secretary, has requested all donut preferences to be indicated on the signup sheet in the back of the room by noon today._ ”

He pauses to listen to them try to stumble through the sentences until they all either finish or give up, and he doesn’t make much of an effort to not laugh at them. He always likes to start out with something a little silly, break the mood of the room. And give anybody who actually reads the transcripts on WhiteHouse.gov something a little more fun to read.

“Second order of business, I’m sure you may have heard already about the President -- ”

Louis cuts off at the sight of him. He usually does a scan of the room, making eye contact with at least half of the members during his morning address, even if he doesn’t directly call on them.

He gets stopped up in the second row, fifth chair in, usually reserved for Grimshaw from the Washington Post. Today it appears to be reserved for Liam Payne -- as it was on Louis’ first day, as it hasn’t been for over four years.

Louis almost doesn’t recognize him. He’s slumped in his chair like he used to, pen and steno pad in his hand -- always takes hand-written notes instead of recording it or typing it like anyone else in the room. That’s about it as far as familiarity is concerned.

He’s definitely never seen Liam in a press room wearing a nearly inappropriately tight white henley that shows off the broadness of his chest and the strength of his arms. He’s never seen his beard any longer than stubble, but now Liam’s sporting something thicker but neatly trimmed. He’s never seen Liam so tanned.

Or so settled in. Liam looks so much older, it only serves as a tough reminder that Louis has also aged. Liam wears it gracefully, comfortably, the crinkles by his eyes and in his cheeks showing deeper than ever before as he smiles up at Louis. He gives Louis a wink, a really shitty one, basically a blink, and it’s a small relief to Louis that even after all this time and all he knows Liam has been through, the man can’t wink to save his life.

He realizes it may be minutes since he’s said anything, but he’s completely lost his train of thought. He doesn’t even remember what he was about to say and, for the first time in nearly six years, he has to glance down at this notes to jog his memory.

He doesn’t like being thrown off balance, hates it in fact, that he can be thrown at all and that Liam’s the one to do it. Liam’s always been the one to do it.

“I’m, um. The President, he,” Louis says, chancing a quick glance back up at Liam, who’s got his eyebrows quirked up and he looks far more amused than should be allowed. He can’t look at Liam, Liam’s making it about seventeen times worse, so he finds Niall at the back of the room. He can barely see Niall without his glasses, but he doesn’t have to to know that Niall is mouthing _what the fuck is wrong with you_ at him.

“The President was playing golf this morning with a member of the British Embassy, Deputy Head of Mission Harry Styles,” Louis says and keeps his face as neutral as possible, when in reality, he wouldn’t mind dragging Deputy Head of Mission Harry Styles around the West Wing by his unprofessionally long hair until he learns to stop hitting golf balls at the leader of the free world.

“The President was struck on the forehead by a rogue golf ball, but I have been assured that he only suffered from minor swelling. Styles was tackled by Secret Service as a precautionary measure.” Louis smirks a little then, he can’t help himself. “When asked about being tackled, Styles reports, _Physically I am fine, but emotionally I am bruised_.”

That’ll be a nice pull quote.

He soldiers on with the rest of his briefing, careful to avoid Liam’s eyes until Liam’s got his hand raised during the questions. Instinct kicks in for Louis and he takes time for Liam.

“I’m sorry, have the Washington Post sent an intern to cover Grimshaw’s seat?” Louis quips and the room chuckles. They seem to be interested in the acknowledgment of Liam’s return. “I am personally offended, not only that this very important briefing about errant golf balls and free donuts is of such little consequence to the Post that they send over a Green, but also that you think you deserve to be called on. What do you have to say for yourself? Give it to us in twelve words.”

Liam looks a little surprised, but then his face shifts like he’s up for the challenge. “What do you think about the recent peace talks in Iran.” He pauses. “Louis?”

It’s twelve, damn it, Louis counts it twice in his head before he’s willing to speak. “There isn't any progress on the docket this morning, but I’m sure the President will have an official statement as soon as there’s actionable movement on this front. I’m hesitant to speculate at this time.”

Liam rolls his eyes at the canned response, but he should expect it. Things are too tenuous for Louis to make definitive statements at this time. He doesn’t bother to write anything down on his stenopad, but everyone else starts furiously taking notes. Louis blinks at them.

Nobody else seems to understand he’s given a nonresponse because once Liam's brought the subject up, the rest of the vultures thinks it's fair game. The harder he fights against it, the deeper a hole he digs himself into.

“Honestly, it’s been long enough since the last talk,” he says at one point, but as soon as he does, he knows he shouldn’t have. The press get hungrier.

 _Louis, does this mean the President isn’t returning Iranian phone calls_?

 _Does that mean Iran isn’t returning any of the_ President’s _phone calls_?

_Would you say we’re now under greater threat of nuclear weapons than before?_

With half his brain still chanting _Liam Liam Liam Liam_ , his responses are nowhere near par. Louis can feel the heat of irritation burning his face. He’s never lost his room before, and he’s never overstepped his bounds.

He’s certainly never snapped at anyone from his podium the way he snaps at the unsuspecting Fox News correspondent for implying the President was dragging his feet to _pass the problem off onto the next guy_.

He nearlyattempts to beat some sense into all of them with a stick, but Niall makes a desperate kill signal from the back of the room and he, somewhat irritably and definitely abruptly, calls the briefing over. Before he leaves his podium, he casts another glance at Liam, who sits cross-armed and giggling in his chair. He knows what he's done.

\--

Louis stalks down the hall to his office, patently refusing to speak to anyone in case they care to ask him another question about Iran. Leave it to the media to take a simple no comment and blow it into _American and Iranian negotiations have reached what appears to be a stalemate, both sides immovable and unwilling to discuss compromise_.

There are already three emails from State and one from the Chief of Staff in his inbox by the time he walks from the briefing room to his office. Early tweets and headlines are leaking out from the briefing room, turning Louis’ original canned response and subsequent irritated repetitions of _I cannot speak to these issues at this time_ into what looks like a vehement denial of any peace talks occurring at all.

He barely gets fifteen minutes of peace to try to explain himself before there’s a knock on the door and Niall peeks around the corner to say, “Louis.”

“If you say the word _Iran_ to me, it better be followed by _six miles this morning_ , because I really truly cannot take anything more, not today,” Louis snaps, peering up at Niall over the brim of his glasses. "Before you correct my pronunciation -- that was a joke, not a statement on peace negotiations."

“Liam Payne wants to see you?” Niall answers, his voice gone softer than it should be.

“Oh,” Louis says, and his heart starts to pound a little faster. He has to swallow before he has the confidence to say, “Yeah.”

Liam shuffles in as Niall shuffles out, the two of them trading friendly smiles along the way before the door is shut between them. He looks just as tanned and world-wearied as he did in the briefing room, which means Louis wasn’t hallucinating all of his wildest dreams about Liam were suddenly coming true. Liam crinkles a smile at him, the lines around his eyes truly deeper than Louis’ ever seen before. Louis rises to greet him, moving around his desk slowly so he can plan how best to greet Liam.

He could go for a hug or a handshake or a pat on the shoulder. Or nothing at all, just pure awkwardness projected at him as they stand in front of each other too paralyzed to move. Liam makes the decision for him, of course; Louis should have anticipated that. He drops his overnight bag on the sofa in the corner and grabs Louis up in a strong hug, both of his arms curling into his lower back, and for just a few moments, Louis is hesitant to let go.

"Hey, Payno," he says into Liam's shoulder.

"Hey, Tommo," Liam answers. Louis’ glad Liam can’t see his smile.

They separate slowly, as if after four years of nothing but space between them makes them want to stay attached.

“Look at this,” Louis says, tugging a little on what he can grab of Liam’s beard -- not stubble, but a true beard that makes him look more rugged than Louis had ever thought possible -- before settling his hand lightly against his cheek. It may be wishful thinking, but he’s pretty sure Liam’s pressing a little firmer against his hand until Louis is actually cupping his jaw.

“Should probably shave it,” Liam mumbles.

“Don’t,” Louis says quietly, and, against his will, he slides his hand away.

“Look at these,” Liam mocks, tapping a finger lightly against Louis’ glasses.

“Shit,” Louis hisses, tearing them off his face and tossing them behind his shoulder as though that will help Liam forget they ever existed. It doesn't. And the harsh clatter they make onto Louis' desk makes him wince.

"Reading glasses, old timer?" Liam laughs.

"I spend my days hunched over a computer, my eyesight has taken a dive, and you've got grey in your beard, so will you kindly fuck off?"

Louis fights the urge to wince again because there was always something about Liam that pushes him to be unprofessional. He's always been fairly familiar with the corps, has a great and personal working relationship with them. But he'd never tell anyone else to fuck off. That sort of familiarity only belongs to Liam Payne.

They’d spent years dancing around each other, making and breaking dates because Louis had to stay at the office or Liam had to take a month-long assignment. They lived through hundreds of _maybe next times_ until they stopped trying, until Liam left suddenly, and for good.

“How are you doing?” Liam asks.

“Well, I’ve apparently halted all peace negotiations between Iran and the US, so I’m doing pretty well,” Louis says. He slaps at Liam’s arm because he’s still mad at him.

“Sorry about that,” Liam says, but he’s not.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Liam confirms. “I definitely didn’t know all of _that_ was going to happen, though.”

“Well, we play with live ammo around here, Liam,” Louis says impatiently, but it doesn’t have much heat to it. “Things escalate pretty quickly.”

Liam nods solemnly for a moment until his face lights up as he sets eyes on the fishbowl on Louis’ desk. He presses past Louis to get to him; Louis tries not to feel slighted. Nacho the goldfish swims around in his bowl, completely ignorant to the rest of the world, as per usual. It must be nice.

“Oh my god, Cheddar, he’s still alive?” he breathes, squatting down to get eye level with the fish. He watches it intently, fascinated by its small movements like he isn’t an award-winning journalist who’s just spent the last four years risking his life to report from warzones.

Louis’ heart breaks a little at the sight.

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Cheddar has passed on,” Louis says, and the grimness of his voice _seems_ like it should be sarcastic, but he was truly crushed by the loss. “Cheddar lived a good life and received a dignified burial at Arlington.”

Liam face falls, crushed as well. Louis wonders if he remembers the exact day six years ago Liam gave him Cheddar, like Louis does, the product of a misunderstanding in the course of Liam trying woo him. It had never occurred to him, apparently, that Niall could have meant Louis was a big fan of Goldfish the _crackers_ (and even then, Louis is pretty sure Niall was trying to be funny, but Liam’s Liam). So Liam had shown up one day with a fishbowl in one hand and a smug smile on his face, and Louis just hadn’t had the heart to tell him otherwise.

Liam nods after a moment, like he accepts the loss and is ready to move on. That must be nice, how fast he's able to do it. Or it must be terrifying, that he knows how to keep from lingering on grief. He remembers Liam's piece on the death of his Jordanian contact, and he remembers crying reading it. He imagined Liam crying writing it.

“This is Nacho.” Louis wonders if Liam will put together that he’s named both of them after Goldfish flavors.

“I can’t believe you got another one.”

“Well, it’s sort of become my thing,” Louis says. “Nacho the Press Office Goldfish has his own Instagram. At Nachoaveragegoldfish.”

Liam laughs, his eyes squinting shut with the force of it. “He does not.”

“He does so,” Louis argues. “Niall is very entrepreneurial when it comes to social media. We have over twenty-three followers.”

“So twenty-four?” Liam jokes. Louis refuses to dignify it with a response. But he’s right.

He shakes his head and walks around Louis’ office to inspect everything, like any of it may have changed in the last four years. Louis isn’t entirely sure, he suspects it’s most the same. There’s still the diplomas from Northwestern and the White Sox pendant on the wall and the replica of the Bean on the shelf by his desk. There’s Nacho the goldfish and the little basket full of Presidential Seal-branded M&Ms.

He supposes the framed screencap of Colin Jost standing behind a podium on his wall is new, a gift from his staff on the occasion of his first (and only) _Saturday Night Live_ impersonation a few years ago. But that’s about it.

“When did you get in?” Louis asks when the silence becomes overwhelming.

“About three hours ago.”

Louis blinks. “Shit.”

“You know that part in _Iron Man_ where Tony Stark gets back and he says he needs a press conference and an American cheeseburger?” Liam says.

“You didn’t pick the cheeseburger first,” Louis answers, and he’s a little proud of that. He can’t have done much else in the morning than come directly here. But Louis doesn’t want to ask him why he’s come here first. He doesn’t want to hear Liam came for any reason other than to see Louis. He enjoys his delusions, far-fetched as they are.

“Not for lack of trying,” Liam says with a pout. “The Smashburger at Dulles apparently does not serve cheeseburgers at five thirty in the morning. And when you ask them to, they look at you like you’re crazy.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you taken care of.”

Liam smiles and ducks his head, trying to play it off like he’s looking at Nacho again, tracing his finger along the bowl, but Louis knows better. “Gonna take me to dinner?”

Louis shrugs as nonchalant as he can manage, but he still gets as nervous now as he used to every time he thought they were finally going to make it. “I know a few places.”

“It’s a date.” Liam’s eyebrows wiggle so ridiculously that Louis has to roll his eyes and look away just so Liam can’t see how pleased he is. He has a reputation to uphold.

Niall knocks and enters again, breaking any sort of moment they might have been working up to. “Debrief with Paul?”

“Yeah,” Louis says and glances back at Liam.

“Seven?” Liam asks.

“Seven.”

“Seven,” Niall repeats confidently, probably just because he can. Louis throws him a look before all three of them find their way out of Louis’ office.

\--

Louis grips his iPad firmly to keep himself in check while he’s reamed by the Chief of Staff for something he didn’t even technically _do_ , but he bears it anyway, keeps his mouth shut when to anyone else he’d fight back.

He’s reminded that it isn’t his place to make policy calls, that he reports only what he’s told to report. He’s reminded his personal opinion does not reflect that of the office of the President and _it’s been long enough_ has no place in his briefing room. He’s reminded to keep his head cool, and he knows when he’s asked _what the fuck happened to you in there_ , he can’t exactly answer _well, Liam Payne showed up and ruined everything_.

He promises to clear the air at his noon briefing, even though he thinks it’ll just continue to escalate. He’d rather not address it at all ever again for the rest of his life. But unfortunately, Addressing Things is one of the top priorities of his job. One could say it’s the main priority of his job.

Louis’ face falls when he turns the corner into the press office and finds Harry Styles chatting with a wide-eyed intern who probably has more important work to do than stand around and gape at Harry Styles.

"Good morning, Lou-eh," he says just as soon as he sees him. He always does the French pronunciation, despite repeated corrections to the contrary, except it’s not exactly the French pronunciation with his drawling accent. It’s like his name was on its way to sounding French but gave up halfway due to laziness.

"Lewis," he says anyway through gritted teeth. It's become a thing now.

Louis throws a not too subtle glare at Niall for even letting him into the general area, and Niall shrugs back, nonchalant. He likes golf, he doesn’t act like a guard dog against unwanted members of the British embassy. It’s like Niall’s a complete stranger these days.

He turns on his heel and heads back for the corridor, but Harry, with his damn long legs, catches up to Louis in no time to match his stride.

"How are you?” Harry asks. “What are you doing these days, besides ending Iranian peace negotiations?"

Louis raises his eyebrows, ready for the challenge. "I thought you might have been too busy attempting to assassinate the President of the United States to catch that one."

"I wasn't," Harry starts, flustered. He raises his voice and takes a furtive look around. "He's joking. I have no intention of assassinating the President of the United States. Or any president. Or anyone, for that matter."

Louis grins over at him, happy to see him sweat. Happy to see literally anyone but himself sweat today. It’s a low blow because Harry’s an easy target when you know where to hit him, and Louis takes far too much joy in seeing the swagger fall swiftly.

"You are either the world's worst assassin or you are playing one hell of a long game."

"Truce," Harry cries.

Louis gives in and throws his hands up to accept the truce. They always have fairly entertaining chats, but the fact of the matter is when Harry’s around, Louis never gets _anything_ done. As evidenced by the fact that they’ve been walking around the West Wing for the last three minutes with literally no purpose.

"But seriously, what are you doing here?" Louis asks, turning a corner abruptly with a new destination in mind.

"I've been put under house arrest until the President has been given a clean bill of health,” Harry answers breezily. “Apparently I’m what you call a _flight risk._ " He nearly does the air quotes, Louis can just tell.

"I meant with me."

Harry looks a little confused for a moment -- whether it’s at Louis for asking or himself for forgetting, Louis doesn’t know.

“Oh, yeah, actually, I have been sent by the ambassador, not fifteen minutes ago, to extend an offer to aid you in your Iranian peace negotiations. It just so happens -- ”

“You know someone?” Louis guesses, and the way Harry’s face falls a little, Louis knows that’s exactly what he was going to say. Harry knows _everyone._ He’s got an answer for _everything_. Particularly when it comes to Louis’ job, it seems.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“You’ve got an inside man?”

“Or woman,” Harry says with a nod.

“Who’s got more of a handle on Iranian nuclear transparency than the Secretary of State or the President of the United States?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Harry says, bugging his eyes with an impatient face.

“I’m fine, really, I don’t need any more eyes on this. Honestly, if I could bury this and never speak of it again, I would.”

Harry considers this. “I don’t think that’s going to solve the issue.”

Louis comes to a halt. “I appreciate your concern and the support of the British embassy through this whole process, truly, but I’ll be fine.”

Harry only seems to notice where they are once they’ve stopped and throws a pacifying smile at Alberto, who scowls up at him. He takes a step back away from the door, as though he’s trying to prove he’s not planning on violating his instructions not to leave.

“I just want to help,” Harry insists.

“And I’ll ask you if I need help.”

“Will you?” Harry asks, somehow able to sound both earnest and judgmental simultaneously.

“Yes, Harry.” He probably won’t. Harry looks like he doesn’t believe him either, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Right, well,” Harry says, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

Louis grins at him as he backs away. “That’s not my style.”

\--

The afternoon briefing only goes marginally better than the morning briefing, in that Louis reads his prepared statement and only his prepared statement, then refuses to take any questions. He thinks of Harry and how he said that wasn’t going to solve the problem. For a moment, Louis thinks he may be right, sidestepping the issue may stir them up even further. But now he’s just sticking to his State Department-prepared script, come what may. He feels like shit about it, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

He gets back to his desk to find a cabinet member in the Iranian government has tweeted something in support of the US pulling out of the nuclear treaty negotiations, to the tune of the US learning to mind their own business. The Supreme Leader retweeted it.

“Fuck Twitter,” Louis says, and he meets Niall just as he’s about to open Louis’ door. “Let me guess. Urgent meeting with the State Department?”

“Urgent meeting with the State Department,” Niall confirms, his face worked into an empathetic frown.

Louis spends hours bouncing around to different offices, having meetings upon meetings full of people telling him exactly what to say, until he’s ready to pull his hair out. He gets debriefed on the President’s health -- just fine now, they’re sending Harry away so he’ll stop flirting with both the President’s secretary and his personal aide. He sits and listens to Jamie and Julian from the Communications department bicker for a solid hour about the fourteenth line of the Constitution until he googles it for them on his iPad and proves they’re all wrong. He puts the finishing touches on their travel arrangements for the President’s stump speech next week.

It’s a pretty normal day for him, all told.

But he’s still exhausted, he’s skipped both lunch and dinner, and he’s wondering if he can talk one of the interns into running down to the mess for him when he turns the corner and sees Liam sitting alone on the bench outside his office. He doesn’t have his overnight bag anymore, but he does have a box of nacho flavored Goldfish in his lap.

Louis is surprised to see him there until the realization hits him hard. They were meant to have dinner. Louis checks the DC clock on the wall. He’s an hour late.

“Shit, Liam, I’m so sorry,” Louis says.

“Better late than never,” Liam says, and it hurts how much he lights up just as soon as he sees Louis. He rises and pulls Louis in for a one-armed hug.

Louis’ heart starts to race because they’re _here_ , this is the closest they’ve ever gotten. He doesn’t know what to say, so he deflects, casting another glance down at the box of Goldfish in Liam’s hands.

“Those for me?”

“No, they’re actually for Nacho,” Liam says.

“Advocating cannibalism? I’m ashamed of you, Payno.”

“I’m very controversial,” Liam agrees.

Louis lets him into his office so he can drop the box of Goldfish next to the actual goldfish. “Who told you?”

“Someone in your office did, the day after I brought Cheddar,” Liam says, rubbing his hand sheepishly against the back of his neck. “That was… the single most embarrassing moment of my life, probably.”

“I’m flattered,” Louis says, and he probably is. “You’re pretty embarrassing on a regular basis.”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees easily. “But you didn’t say anything. You always say something, but that one time you didn’t say anything. And I… I just really wanted to date you.”

Louis has to look away, covers it by moving back to the door. He can’t acknowledge it, doesn’t know how to. Liam doesn’t seem to mind; he seems content to pester Louis with questions about his day the whole walk to the exit.

“Good night, Alberto,” Liam says as he passes him his visitor’s badge.

“Good night, Mr. Payne,” Alberto says back.

Louis turns an incredulous look to him for _actually speaking_ , but Alberto looks as passive as ever, as if nothing had actually happened. Louis isn’t sure he likes this violation of the laws of nature, but he’s also not surprised by it.

He takes Liam to a place he’s never been, a google search having told him this was the best place for burgers on Capitol Hill. He hates walking all the way over to Capitol Hill, but Liam seems set on it, the way he keeps walking past Metro stations and not flinging his hand out for a taxi. Louis’ exhausted, and honestly pretty sweaty, by the time they arrive, and Liam is too kind to mention anything about it.

When they settle into their seats, it takes a few moments for the realization to settle on Louis. They've finally made it. Their first date. It only took them seven years. And Louis feels bad that he spends the entire time wondering which one of them is going to cause it to end first, which one of them will have to call into work.

"How was your day?" Louis asks, now that Liam’s sapped him of every possible non-confidential detail of his own day.

"Not great. Spent the day getting my ass pounded by my editor over the Iran thing as well," Liam says. Louis very strategically says nothing, and he almost gets away with it, but a snort breaks through. Liam frowns at him, but he misinterprets the laugh. "It's not funny, Tommo, my editor has already threatened me with probation if I get _another_ bounty put on my head.”

Louis gapes, but the waiter arrives to take their drink order. Liam looks calm, like he wasn't just discussing the possibility of an assassination, let alone multiple assassinations. He orders a Stella because he's an asshole and Louis orders an IPA and they're silent until the waiter is out of earshot.

"I was only joking about the bounties," Liam says.

"Fuck off," Louis growls. Louis isn't joking. He knows for a fact there's been at least one on Liam's head. He just isn't sure Liam knows.

"It may have been in poor taste, but it was worth it to teach you a lesson about laughing at my innocent mistakes." He shakes out his napkin innocently and drapes his over his lap.

Louis quirks his eyebrows and purses his lips and says nothing.

“Can’t believe we didn’t get to do this sooner,” Liam says.

"For the best, probably. Would have been unprofessional. I could have been accused of treating you favorably."

"Favorably!" Liam huffs. "One time you sent me to the back of the room because you didn't want to look at my haircut."

"And you haven't buzzed your hair since. I was doing you a favor."

“Buzzed my hair in Jordan, actually,” Liam says as they’re brought their drinks. They apologize to the waiter for not having looked at the menu at all, but as soon as he’s gone, neither of them pick it up.

Louis twists his beer around on the mat, twisting it inch by inch as he tries to compose how he wants to address it. It’s frustrating, for someone who makes his living out of knowing exactly what to say and when, that Liam so often makes him speechless.

"I was sorry to read about your friend," Louis says quietly. "You paid him a beautiful tribute."

Liam's face falls as he shakes his head. "He should have been able to tell his own story. They all should."

"That's the burden of being a mouthpiece for the facts. You don't get to change the story, however much you want to."

"It's more than a story, it's their lives,” Liam says, his voice low but passionate. “It's not something you can crumple up and throw away when you're done reading it. You can’t close a browser and pretend it doesn't exist. It's so much more than that."

"I know, Liam," Louis says gently. He does. He knows better than most. He's also just as guilty of it. It's an indictment of Louis that he can't remember the guy's name. That in his mind it's just become something that's happened to Liam, when Liam is the least of it.

Liam nods and walls up like Louis’ never seen him do before. Liam’s always been eager to talk about anything and everything under the sun, but here he stays closed off as he stares down at his menu.

Louis doesn’t know if he should say anything, if he should comfort him, if he should get up and kiss him like he’s been thinking about all day. He’s supposed to know what to do with Liam and he doesn’t. They’ve spent four years without each other and Louis worries if Liam’s changed. Especially because Louis thinks he’s stayed the same.

 _What are we doing here_? he wonders. Are they having dinner because it’s the culmination of seven years of chasing after each other? Are they here because they think this is where they’re finally supposed to be? Are all the things about Liam he was once attracted to gone or changed? They didn’t even check to see if they still liked each other. They just went for it.

In the end Louis just says, “An American cheeseburger?”

Liam smiles a little and says, “I’m getting one with everything on it. Everything.”

Liam does just that. And so does Louis.

He tells Louis about the time he went to France and tried frog legs -- cuisses de grenouilles, he calls them. His accent is terrible.

“Frog legs don’t actually taste like anything, they’re just sort of, like, texture, you know, and if you dip them into something, it just tastes like a dip,” Liam explains.

Louis just sort of stares at him, uncertain whether he wants to pay attention or have the stomach to eat his dinner.

“So they have this festival in Vittel where people just eat hundreds of thousands of frog legs, but they have to be imported, because they’re actually decimating the frog population in France.”

“Is that what your next assignment is, do you know? Saving the French frog population one frog eating festival at a time?” Louis asks as casually as he can, though he’s sure Liam can tell he’s eager to change the subject. He’s also sure Liam can read the _when are you leaving me again_ lying underneath it.

“I’ve only just come back about sixteen hours ago, they probably haven’t thought of it yet.”

“The Post is wasting sixteen hours of your time? That’s an affront to the integrity of American journalism. I’m going to write a letter to the editor.”

“I could pitch them,” Liam starts innocently enough. “A day in the life of the White House Press Secretary.”

“My story isn’t worth telling, to be honest.” Louis shrugs.

He also knows Liam would go stir crazy locked up in the White House again, covering the same old things and talking to the same old people and playing the same old politics. He’s not made for that. He’s made to explore and conquer the world, and it would do Louis well to remember that.

"I refuse to believe that's true," Liam says firmly, with the kind of conviction that makes Louis want to believe he's right.

Louis' phone starts to warble from his pocket, and he hates that he almost appreciates the distraction.

“Sorry,” Louis says. He’s not entirely keen on pulling it out and serenading the entire restaurant with Bette Midler, but desperate times.

He can tell when Liam catches onto what the song is because he doesn’t bother trying to hide his smile. Then he starts to sing along.

“Yeah,” Louis says into the phone, and Liam is still singing softly at him.

 _You’re everything I wish I could be,_ Liam croons tenderly and reaches out his hand to brush his fingertips against Louis’ face. Louis slaps at it as he tries to focus on what the operator’s telling him. _And I can fly higher than an eagle. You are the wind beneath my wings._

He does a little run at the end that has Louis cracking up and completely missing the next piece of information, so he has to apologize to the operator and get her to repeat the last part of the message. He thanks her when she’s done and hangs up.

He probably doesn’t have to go, but he doesn’t know where the evening’s headed. Well. That’s not true, he does. It’s their first date after years of date attempts and even more years of not hearing a word from each other and every time Liam smiles or looks a certain way or breathes, Louis feels like he could jump across the table and take him in the middle of the restaurant.

But he doesn’t know where it goes from there. He doesn’t know where Liam is in his life, if he’s going to settle down and stop traveling. He doesn’t know if he wants to ask that of Liam either.

It’s easier to just… focus on what he knows, what he can count on. They’re bringing him in, they _need_ him like they always have, every time Louis’ had to cancel. Liam’s understood; he’s canceled just as many.

So Louis says, “I have to go.”

Liam’s face falls. “But. We finally made it. This can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“No, Liam, nothing can wait. This isn’t a job, it’s my _life_ ,” Louis says, and he can feel himself getting defensive preemptively. He hates it, but he can’t turn it off. He’s useful, he’s needed, he’s expected to work just as hard as anyone who makes policies. “We don’t clock a nine to five, we don’t get to decide when the day is done. The world doesn’t stop turning just because I’ve got dinner plans.”

“I understand that -- ”

“I know you do,” Louis says. He means to sound compassionate, but it comes out biting. “Your job is your life too, which is why you don’t have any problem picking up and leaving the country for four years.”

Liam smarts, his face pinching into something uncomfortable. “I’m here now.”

“Yeah. For _now_.”

“Please stay,” Liam says quietly.

“The irony,” Louis mutters as he rises and throws a couple of bills on the table for his half of the meal. “You’ve always been pretty good at leaving, Liam.”

Liam looks up at him, his expression unreadable. “You’ve always been pretty good at staying put.”

Louis knows what he means. The way he can become so singularly focused on one thing that he never leaves room for anything else, or anyone else. Liam would consider that stagnant, but Louis calls it dependable.

This is his life, the one he’s chosen. And maybe he’s not always going to be _around_ , but he’ll always be here. Liam will always know where to find him. The same can’t be said about Liam.

Liam knows it, from the look of him, studying Louis like he’s not sure if he’s sad or disappointed or angry.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Louis asks as he feels the fight drain from him.

“I’ll find something.”

“Stay at mine,” Louis says, unhooking the key from his keychain and tossing it at Liam. “The alarm code is 2828, address is -- ”

“I remember where you live,” Liam says. He’s been over a few times, Louis remembers now, with some of the Chosen Few from the corps, the ones Louis pretends aren’t his favorites. It’s been years, though.

Louis sniffs. “I could have moved.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I stayed put,” Louis murmurs before he turns to leave.

\--

A text comes in rerouting him from his office to the Oval Office just as he walks out of the restaurant. He flags down a taxi because he doesn’t have patience for the walk, especially now that he knows the President is waiting on him. He sort of wants to tell Liam, to read him the text message just to prove it was worth it to leave.

He doesn’t, though. Mostly because he doesn’t have Liam’s phone number, if Liam even _has_ a phone number. But he also doesn’t think it’ll make a difference.

The President’s secretary Mrs. Teasdale doesn’t let him have one of the cookies from the jar on her desk and makes him wait on the bench over in the corner. She must not be pleased with him to be here so late in the evening.

He tries not to jiggle his leg too violently as the weight of a late night discussion in the Oval Office settles on him. There's no way anyone would fire him this late at night.

The phone rings and Mrs. Teasdale says _yes sir_ into it three times before she disappears into the Oval herself and leaves Louis alone.

"It's fine," he says out loud to himself and the Secret Service members who are likely listening in.

The door opens and the person on the other side is not who Louis expects.

"Oh, Lou-eh Tomlinson," mourns Harry Styles as he enters the reception from the Oval Office. He looks disappointed to see Louis there.

"Shit," Louis mutters, and he covers his face with his hands, sinking down further on the bench until he’s likely to slip and fall onto the floor.

"What are you doing?" He can feel Harry settle onto the bench next to him.

"I thought maybe if I refused to believe you were here, you would disappear,” Louis says into his palms. “This is apparently not the case. Did you know that it is actually the middle of the night? What the hell are you still doing here?"

Harry clucks at him. “That’s not very kind, Louis.”

Louis can hear the frown in his voice, but he can’t stop it. He’s tired and irritable, he’s had a shit day, and he’s found some sort of way to disappoint everyone. He especially doesn’t want to hear whatever brilliant solution to all of his problems Harry’s probably managed to cook up in thirty seconds of thinking about it.

“Well, kindness isn’t an inherent part of my behavior,” Louis mumbles, “especially towards people who repeatedly and purposefully mispronounce my name.”

“Actually I have it on good authority from your mum that you have been named _Louis_ like the king,” Harry says idly.

Louis’ eyes snap to him quickly. “When the hell have you talked to my mother?”

“She called once, oh it was years back, you were in a meeting, and I happened to be around.” Harry flaps a hand like it’s okay that he skims over the details. It’s not. “We had a very illuminating conversation. I learned many things, including, but not limited to, your refusal to speak your name as your mum intended. Shameful, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis bristles because it wasn’t exactly his choice. He was told fairly early on if he wanted to make it in politics, he should consider something a little more...  American. Especially at a time when no one much cared for the French and Louis was eager to play along at any cost. It was just another thing he was willing to sacrifice for his country, and it seemed so small at the time.

“Fine,” Louis says. He’s just tired. Too tired to argue. Too tired to banter. Too tired to debate about his identity. “How can I help you, Harry, really.”

“I learned about Galapagos Marine Iguanas today.”

Louis stares at him. “Yeah?”

“Saw this thing about evolution in the Galapagos Islands. They had to evolve to eat seaweed and learn how to swim, like. But the seaweed in their diet was too salty so they developed a way to sneeze the extra salt out of their bodies so it didn’t hurt them.”

“Sneezing iguanas?” Louis asks dubiously.

“I can show you a video,” Harry says, somewhat defensively. “But m’serious. They sneeze it out, like all over each other because obviously they’re not going to cover their noses or anything. Because evolution.”

“Okay, Harry.”

“My point is -- ”

“A point, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Shut up, Louis,” Harry says sharply, and it works, if only because Louis is in shock that Harry’d say it so forcefully to begin with. “What I’m trying to tell you is things change based on necessity, right? Given the right circumstances. It can be slow, like the gradual evolution of the Galapagos Marine Iguana, and it may not seem like much is happening while things are evolving. But the end result justifies the journey. It makes the pain and the waiting and the mistakes worth it, because it was necessary. Do you know what I mean?”

Louis thinks about it. “No.”

“What I mean is, I talked to a nice bloke outside your office earlier called Liam Payne who seemed determined to wait hours for your return, after you’ve waited years for his,” Harry says softly. “So I’m wondering if it’s the right circumstances for you both. After years of evolution.”

“To start sneezing on each other?”

Harry makes a considering face. “I mean, if you’re into that, that’s fine, no judgment.”

Louis raises his eyebrows and gives him a chuckle in spite of himself.

“The thing about evolution is, and I’m not sure if this is new information for you, given the state of science education in America,” Harry grins when Louis flips him off, “but there’s a breaking point where those have evolved enough to survive, they thrive. And those who don’t become extinct. You’re reaching the breaking point. Out there in your life, with Liam, until you get to the point where you both stop trying.”

Louis nearly switches into a defensive mode, _who the fuck do you think you are_ sitting on the tip of his tongue. But he realizes he doesn’t like the sound of that, that their _maybe next time_ would become _maybe never_.

Mrs. Teasdale slips out of the Oval and says, “He’s ready for you, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Louis barely registers it, it takes him too many seconds to catch on with his brain chanting _Liam Liam Liam_. He’s bad for business.

He thanks her and strides across the room. He stops to take a look back at Harry. “Go home, Harry.”

“I will if you will,” Harry says just as Louis’ closing the door behind him.

The President gestures for Louis to take a seat on one of the couches. Louis goes, remembering back during his first few weeks he had been hesitant to tread on the carpet with the Presidential seal that rested between the couches. He had thought he was being deferential to the office, but at the end of the day… a rug is a rug.

He’s not in trouble. That’s the first thing the President tells him, like he’s actually a school principal who’s called Louis to the office for a talk about His Potential and how he may be wasting it if he doesn’t change his attitude soon. Or maybe Louis is just projecting.

The President tells Louis about a very illuminating conversation he’d had with the Iranian president earlier in the day, about how the briefing had struck a chord with the two of them. They’re both faced with opposition from within their own governments and are eager to seek new methods of increasing public awareness and public approval of a deal.

It’s just one step in a long plan full of complicated maneuvers to be performed by people much more important than the White House Press Secretary. The more the President talks, the more Louis feels overwhelmed. There’s just so much to _do_ and there are hundreds of millions of people’s lives on the line. This must be what it feels like to make policy instead of just talk about it. Louis never stops feeling in awe.

A plan percolates in his mind, the first step in the long road, the details growing stronger by the second. He pitches it and gets immediate approval.

Then he gets to work.

\--

Harry's not waiting outside the Oval, so Louis digs his phone out of his pocket.

“I need your help, Harry Styles,” he says instead of hello.

“I thought you would never ask,” Harry says, sounding none too pleased with himself. “And it’s I need your help, _Sir_ Harry Styles. I’ve got an OBE, you know.”

Louis hangs up on him.

He’ll wait a few minutes before calling him back because they _do_ actually need to work out the details and specifics of Louis’ plan, but he doesn’t mind leaving Harry to sweat for a while.

It’s after hours, so Louis can unbutton his sleeves and roll them up as he walks back to his office. He’s not surprised to see Niall asleep at his desk, and honestly Niall shouldn’t be surprised when Louis wakes him by dropping the budget on his desk for the second time that day.  

“Time to go to work,” Louis tells him before Niall seems to even realize he’s still at work and not in his bed.

They spend a few hours on the phone, trading calls with State, the British Embassy, the Iranian Embassy, Twitter. The essential parties, as it were. They have to get all of the pieces in place to combat all of the articles and newscasts that are still going strong well into the night. Louis tries not to think about what will happen if nobody’s impressed by their attempts to quell the rumors.

Every time Louis glances at the box of nacho-flavored Goldfish next to Nacho the goldfish, he feels a twinge of guilt. He thinks a couple of times about calling the emergency line at his apartment just to see if Liam will pick up, but he doesn’t.

He gets up to stretch when he realizes he hasn’t left his office in a few hours, lingers in his doorway, and watches Niall plugging away some sort of information into a spreadsheet. Louis admits sometimes he doesn’t think he could accurately identify everything Niall does for this office, but he’s glad Niall does it.

"Can I get you anything, Nialler?" he asks.

Niall turns around in his chair to face Louis and thinks on it for a little while.

"Yeah, actually, I thought maybe with your newfound policy making position, you could let slip we're going to give NASA back its funding? If you just tell everyone it's going to happen, they'll have to make it happen, right?"

Louis narrows his eyes. "Shut up."

Niall turns wide, shining eyes at him. "Please, Louis, I need to see the stars."

"Buy a telescope."

Niall gives a long suffering sigh and slumps against his desk. He looks exhausted and it’s not part of their bit.

"Go on home now, back to the Big City, where ya belong," Louis says, adopting a gruff southern accent. He shoos at Niall. "Go on now, get."

“But, pa,” Niall argues back, adopting the same tone. “Can’t leave you on your own.”

“Don’t you worry about me now, get on.” Louis gives an exaggerated sniffle.

“All right.” Niall barks with laughter and begins to gather his things. He locks his computer before turning a serious look on Louis. “You can go home too, you know? The world’s not going to fall apart just ‘cause you’re not sitting at your desk.”

“Won’t it?” Louis asks, somewhat joking. But also not.

“No,” Niall says abruptly. Louis almost needs to take a step back. Niall could have at least given him a pity _maybe_. “I’m saying Iran will still be there in the morning.”

“In Iran it is the morning.”

“But what are you going to do sitting in this press office at midnight that’s going to be any different tomorrow at 8 am?”

Louis sours. What he does makes a difference. He has to, or else what’s the fucking point? So he tells Niall just that.

“I’m not saying you don’t make a difference,” Niall says, but he sounds more impatient than placating. “Nobody knows what you do for this White House more than I do, Louis. But who are you going to help if you’re not firing on all cylinders?”

Louis purses his lips in consideration, but he’s not willing to admit he’s right. He knows he’s not firing on all cylinders -- falling asleep in briefings, unintentionally instigating international doubt over an impending nuclear weapons armistice. It’s not his best week, truth be told.

“Why are _you_ still here then?” Louis asks, wincing a little at how much of a deflection it sounds like.

"Because I don't leave until you say the work is done.”

“And you’re firing on all cylinders working the same hours I do?”

“I take a lot of naps in the Roosevelt Room during the day, tell no one.”

It says a lot about Niall that Louis can’t tell whether he’s joking or not.

“Today was supposed to be The Day for a reason,” Niall continues. “You’ve still got some time left, so don’t piss it away. With all due respect. So. Is the work done?”

Louis’ done all he can do. He’s put all of his moves into play; the only thing left is to watch what happens. It’s sort of exhilarating. But mostly… terrifying. There’s always a thousand and one things to do in his office, but Niall’s right. At some arbitrary point, he has to say enough is enough.

“Yeah,” Louis decides. “We’re done.”

“Great. Me and Harry are going for drinks at the Hamilton, band tonight’s supposed to be pretty good?”

“Nah,” Louis says, making a spur of the moment decision. He’s not done with work, but he can take a break. A quick break, and be here bright and early. “I’ve… I’ve got plans.”

Niall cracks a smile. “Plans?”

“Yep, plans, bye Niall,” Louis says, ignoring the sound of his cackling as it echoes down the corridor.

Louis doesn’t run through the West Wing, because that would be undignified, even if no one else is around, but he jogs at a very healthy pace. He hails a taxi for the second time in less than twenty-four hours and hates himself for it, but the promise of a reward is too great.

\--

He does get home in ten minutes instead of thirty, but the sight he’s greeted with makes his face fall a little and slows his nervous thumping heart rate to something more sedated and disappointed.

Liam’s curled on the couch, fully clothed, his mouth hanging open a little. He has his legs tucked close and his arms crossed, like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible. Or it’s possible that Louis’ couch is uncomfortable and too small, he doesn’t know. It’s been years since he’s sat on it.

He doesn’t want to wake Liam, so he passes him into the kitchen as quietly as he can manage. He sets about pouring himself a bowl of cereal since he didn’t eat any dinner. He’s reached the point where he’s too tired to actually know whether he’s hungry, but he knows he should eat anyway. When he opens the fridge to get the milk, there’s a to go box in it he doesn’t recognize. It’s got an uneaten cheeseburger and fries in it. He leaves it there.

Liam wakes up anyway, slowly shuffles into the kitchen and gives him a sleepy, “Hey.” He blinks gently in the dim light of the kitchen. He looks soft and domestic like no one but Louis has ever been inside this apartment. It throws Louis for a loop for a few moments.

Louis eventually returns a _hey_ of his own, mouth full of Cocoa Puffs and Frosties because he only eats like a grown up when there are other grownups around to see him.

“Crisis averted?” Liam asks.

“The President couldn’t decide on his blue pajamas or his grey pajamas,” Louis mourns. “A national emergency.”

Liam nods seriously. “You were the only man for the job. How did you counsel him?”

“Oh, blue, he looks really good in blue.”

“I missed you,” Liam says suddenly, and Louis is jarred by the shift in conversation. “More than I think I was allowed to.”

Louis sets his bowl on the counter to give himself time to think about what to do.

“You were allowed,” he decides to say. He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. “What did you miss?”

Liam nods like he realizes it’s a test. Louis’ asking him to prove that four years was worth the wait.

“I missed how clever you are,” Liam starts listing off like he doesn’t even need time to think about it. “I missed your passion. I missed how much I wanted to impress you. I missed how much fun we had together.”

Louis grins. They did have fun. “Remember when we traded jobs for a briefing?”

“You didn’t give me any notes to go off of and you booed and threw popcorn at me until I dismissed everyone,” Liam supplies with a roll of his eyes. He’s smiling, though, and Louis knows for a fact he loved it.

“You would make a terrible press secretary, they’d eat you alive,” Louis says.

Liam nods, considering. He’d probably be okay at handling the room, all told, but Louis would definitely eat him alive.

“What have you missed?”

“Presumptuous,” Louis huffs. He missed everything, but he can’t say that.

“Yeah, but I’m right, aren’t I?”

Louis narrows his eyes at him and purses his lips, but he’s honestly kidding himself if he thinks he’s not going to play along, if he’s not going to pass the test himself.

“I miss that little mark on your neck,” Louis says. “I miss that time you thought you might try to wear vests even though vests are for douchebags.”

“My list is better than yours,” Liam interrupts, on the verge of pouting.

“Now hang on a minute.” Louis pretends to think about it, but his answers are as readily available as Liam’s. “I miss your compassion, for people and for your job. I miss having a favorite.”

Liam grins then, sudden and blinding and _smug_. He takes a few steps closer to close the gap between the two of them. Louis debates for a moment whether to unfold his hands and remove the last barrier between them. It’s a tough move to make.

He’s not stupid, he knows what Liam’s doing. He could derail him easily, push Liam out of his comfort zone until he stops pretending that just a few hours ago they were unhappy with each other. It would be easy to crush the hope that sits in his own chest that tells him they could actually make it this time.

“I don’t miss the way I can’t think straight when you’re around.” Louis points at him in accusation, knocks his finger against his chest a few times. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

Liam runs his fingers across Louis’ cheek before they find their way to rest gently against his jaw. “I should probably apologize for that, then?”

“Yes. You’re bad for business. But the entire world is conspiring against me,” Louis says. “I want this, I want us, but you can’t tell me you haven’t thought of the reasons why we shouldn’t.”

“Just stop thinking about that,” Liam says, a crease forming between his eyes from how he’s frowning down at Louis.

“Of course I have to think about it,” Louis grouses. “There’s a reason we’ve never done this before. We keep getting pulled apart, but we’re at a precipice now, and we could take the next step and fuck it all up -- ”

Liam moves his hand to put a finger to Louis’ lips to stop him, and it works, damn him. Louis is about to raise hell when Liam replaces the finger with his own lips, gently capturing Louis’ with a soft kiss. It’s a slow kiss, a product more of exhaustion than heat. It’s light and easy and Louis relishes the scratch of Liam’s beard.

“That was unfair,” Louis mumbles.

“I know,” Liam says. “But this conversation is too important to have at one o’clock in the morning when we’re both dead on our feet and likely to say something we’ll both regret.”

Louis makes a petulant noise, he’s sure Liam’s wrong. They should work it out while they can, before they do anything stupid, before they do anything they can’t take back. But he doesn’t argue the point. He resists the urge to poke at Liam until he snaps. He tries to remember what Harry said about evolution. This could be it. This could be their last step.

So he stupidly, stupidly doesn’t argue the point when Liam wraps his arms around Louis’ waist to pull him closer.

Liam shifts his head until he’s got his lips brushing against Louis’ ear. “Also I really wanted to kiss you. Was it too much? That might have been the precipice you were referring to. I guess I didn’t really care.”

Louis smirks, but he hides it in Liam’s shoulder, burying his face in the crook of his neck and making no attempts to leave. Liam smells stale, like travel and sweat, and Louis knows he has a problem when he doesn’t care.

He feels safe there in Liam’s arms, comfortable, as he lightly traces patterns over the strong muscles in his back. _This is right_ , he thinks. They hold each other until Louis can feel Liam stifling a yawn.

“To bed,” Louis commands. He pulls away gently and runs a few of his fingers through Liam’s hair, fixing the part where it had gotten matted from sleeping.

“I’m fine, I’ve got the couch.”

“To bed,” Louis repeats, grabbing Liam by the hand and dragging him slowly back to Louis’ bedroom.

His heart thumps because _what if we do something._ He thinks about it the whole time Louis strips down to his boxers, unabashedly watches Liam rid himself of the henley that’s been spinning Louis’ head all day. He thinks about it until they’re both actually lying down in bed, until Louis’ brain remembers that he has to be at work in five hours, until nineteen hours of work catch up to him and start to weigh heavy on his eyelids. Their feet barely brush as the rest of them lie separate on their respective sides of the bed.

“Tired. Today was supposed to be The Day,” Louis mumbles, likely muffled by his pillow, but he doesn’t care.

“What day?” Liam breathes back, and Louis doesn’t feel so bad to know that he’s half asleep too.

He squints at Liam in the dark, but his eyes are already closed. “Do you think Iran is mad at me?”

“I don’t think Iran knows who you are. But if they did, they’d know you’re doing your best. Can’t be mad at that.” Liam reaches out and pats sleepily at Louis’ face, poking him in the eye once and nearly sticking a finger up his nose. Louis reaches up to catch his hand, pull it down to his mouth so he can lay a couple of kisses on his fingers before he holds it close to his chest.

“Nighty night, Tommo.”

“Night, Payno.” Louis thinks really hard about shuffling toward him and stealing another kiss, but he’s asleep before he can tell whether or not he’s actually done it.

\--

He wakes up in roughly the same position he had fallen asleep in, splayed out on his side of the bed, facing Liam, likely breathing right into his face. Liam’s sleeping in that same sort of tucked into himself formation. They’re not curled up against each other and Louis guesses he shouldn’t be surprised -- both of them likely sleeping on their own too much to have that instinct to find someone else in the night.

“Fuck,” Louis hisses once he gets his eyes on the time from the cable box under the TV.

“Good morning to you too,” Liam says. His eyes are still closed, but he looks sort of amused.

“I slept in,” Louis snaps, rolling over away from him. His phone’s dead because he didn’t charge it last night. _Shit_.

Liam checks his watch through squinted eyes. “It’s 7 am, that’s hardly sleeping in.”

“You know I don’t get to the office this late.” Louis throws himself out of bed and stomps into the bathroom.

“It’s one day, Tommo. You could tell them you were having a very important breakfast with a member of the media. And then we can have breakfast and it won’t be a lie.”

Louis pulls his toothbrush from his mouth to lean around the door and look at Liam. He’s lying lazily in bed like he hasn’t got a thing to do in the world. And maybe he doesn’t, maybe he runs his own schedule, or the entire world is willing to revolve around his schedule. It doesn’t work like that for Louis. The world runs at its own pace and Louis has to run as fast as he can just to keep up.

He was wrong last night. He was wrong to let Liam talk him out of ignoring all of the nagging feelings in the back of his mind telling him he should have cut out before he got too deep. He’s suddenly so mad at himself for letting himself get distracted, for letting Liam affect him so much he gets thrown off course. Again. For getting his hopes up for no reason.

He has to pull the plug.

“And what about tomorrow, will you be here tomorrow morning?”

“Louis.”

“Should I come into work late just on the mornings you’re here? Will I need to worry about that next week?” He keeps needling even though Liam’s face keeps falling, but he can’t stop himself.

“It’s one day.”

Louis can’t look at him, ducks back into the bathroom to rinse his mouth out so he doesn’t have to see what his words will do to Liam’s face.

“When are you leaving, Liam?” he calls. “Do you have your next assignment already? Are you going to give me more than twenty-four hours’ notice this time?”

“If I stayed, would you be there when I fall asleep?” Liam asks, having traveled to join Louis in the bathroom. He leans against the doorframe and watches Louis critically. Louis tries not to look up at him through the mirror. “Would you still be there when I wake up?”

Louis rinses and doesn’t answer; Liam doesn’t force the matter. Louis knows he shouldn’t take advantage of how generally non-confrontational Liam is, but just this once he needs it. He shoulders past him and Liam lets him go.

His phone slowly powers back to life, and all manner of notifications buzz, missed calls, missed texts, unread emails greet him. Louis swears again.

“This is it for me, Liam, it’s the home stretch, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make the most of it,” Louis says as he throws on a suit that probably hasn’t seen a dry cleaner in months. Liam takes the hint and starts dressing too, slower, though, like he’s hoping Louis will change his mind.

“I’ll be damned if I don’t leave this office better than I found it,” Louis continues. “I’ll be damned if I don’t give it my all. And if that means I have to miss a few dinners, then I will.”

Liam’s quiet a long time before he says, “So that’s it then.”

"Are you going to leave again?"

The way he ducks his head says enough, but he still admits, "Yes.”

“Then we’re still in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Do we have to be?” The hope in his voice kills Louis, but it’s not enough.

Louis shrugs helplessly at him. “Neither of us wants to sit around and wait for the other.”

“So nothing’s changed,” Liam says like the realization’s just hit him.

He looks devastated, but Louis has to wonder what he thought would happen. He thought he could show up after four years of nothing, four years of growing and living without each other, and what? Everything that stopped them before would have solved itself?

“If you want me to ask you to stay, I won’t,” Louis says. “You can’t put that on me. You can't tell me to tell you to give up your job and your passion just because I want to be with you. We’ll both resent it.”

“I know,” Liam says. He gives him a sad smile that has Louis crossing the few steps between them to get his hands on him. He settles for resting a hand against his jaw. Liam leans into it. “I don’t know why I thought it was different this time.”

“I wanted it to be.”

Harry was wrong. They’re not done evolving. Louis doesn’t feel smug enough to make a point of it to Harry later, to tell him this is exactly why he should mind his own business. It only leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

In the end, it’s still Liam that leaves, bag in hand. Louis stays put, looking after him even though he can’t see him anymore. He doesn’t move until his phone chirps again, a reminder of what he’s missing.

\--

“You’re late,” Niall says just as soon as Louis tries to slip into the office unnoticed, and his eyes go wide as saucers. He looks far more excited than he should be allowed. “And you had a date last night.”

“Shut up,” Louis hisses because eyes are starting to be drawn to them.

“Louis’ late and he had a date!” Niall crows, clapping his hands. “Was it Liam? I fucking knew it was Liam, god, Harry Styles owes me ten bucks.”

Louis hurries into his office and closes the door firmly behind him, but Niall just bursts in seconds later, belting, “Did you ever know that you’re my heeroooooooo?”

“Niall, _stop_ ,” Louis says, his voice cutting far more than he means it to, and it stops Niall up immediately.

The sick feeling he’s been ignoring ever since he left his apartment finally takes hold of his stomach and twists it. He knows he fucked it up. He was embarrassed to have let himself get so vulnerable that he resorted to knee-jerk reacting, making blunt accusations designed to make Liam agree that they shouldn’t even talk about it. That it’s not even worth a proper discussion.

He hasn’t seen Liam look so crushed since the last time they fought, in this office, just twenty-four short hours before Liam planned to ship off to Tahrir Square.  

“I’m sorry. It just didn’t…” Louis shakes his head.

“I got it,” Niall says, waving him off. The set of his jaw says otherwise, but Louis doesn’t push it. “Twitter’s live.”

Louis thanks him and he’s left alone to deal with the hundred notifications waiting for him.

The first thing Louis is greeted with on his computer is a video from the British embassy of Harry speaking out on behalf of the US and their push for a treaty. He watches Harry try to say, “Uranium Enrichment Levels” without putting the reporter to sleep. He announces both the President and the Prime Minister will call the Iranian government today to discuss strategy, confirming that every party involved agrees. It _has_ been long enough.

He sends a quick text of thanks to Harry, pithy because he’s not one to make a big deal of it, and receives a follow up pretty quickly asking after Liam. _Not done evolving_ , he shoots back and leaves it at that.

The morning briefing is goes well. They eat their donuts and Grimshaw sits in the fifth chair of the second row and Louis gets to tell them more details about the impending call Harry spoke about earlier in the morning. He lays out their newest initiative for public interaction on the subject of the impending Iran deal. It’s small, but it’s something.  

He gives them the Twitter URL and tells them they’ll try their best to answer any and all questions about the uranium levels and the danger of nuclear weapons. One hundred and forty characters at a time, of course. They’re advocating transparency, accessibility, and they’re using one of the world’s greatest social forums to promote it.

It sounds great. At the very least, it could be great. He’s aware of the level of bureaucracy that every tweet will undergo -- starting with Louis’ office, the Cabinet, State, at least three embassies, and so on. But it’s a start.

He checks in with Niall, flicking his eyes to where he stands in the back of the room next to the boxes of donuts. Niall gives him a thumbs up. The work’s done.

He wants to tell Liam, to call him and let him know he thinks he’s done something right.

Liam would be proud of him, supportive in a way that inflates Louis’ sense of accomplishment to an undeserving level. He’s been gentle from the start, from Louis’ first day on the job when he choked during his first briefing and Liam had come to see him to tell him they’d all seen worse. He’d offered to help, which Louis vehemently rejected, but during the next briefing, his eyes would catch on the fifth seat of the second row. He’d find a pair of eyes and an ally looking back at him.

He’s got a meeting talking about the effectiveness of the announcement during his briefing and a meeting about the meeting about the effectiveness of the announcement before he can get back to his office. Nobody yells at him, so that’s a step in the right direction. But they don’t know how much time he spends scripting a phone call to Liam to apologize for exploding this morning.

It turns out he doesn’t have to make the phone call. He does have to blink a couple of times just to be sure that Liam really is sitting on the bench outside his office. That his morning of magical wishes hadn’t suddenly manifested for no reason at all.

“Hey, Tommo,” Liam says quietly, almost like he’s not sure he’s allowed to.

“You came back,” Louis says dumbly.

“I had to get my donut,” Liam answers, and sure enough there is half of a napkin-wrapped donut in his hand.

“That’s true, it is your birthday in two weeks,” Louis says with a slow nod.

Liam looks a little surprised for a moment, as if Louis doesn’t have that sort of critical information memorized about every member of the Corps to sit in his room. Louis opens his office door for him and goes to close it behind the two of them. Niall wiggles his eyebrows at him, and Louis crosses his eyes stupidly back at him just before he closes the door.

“Heard you saved the world from nuclear war or something?” Liam asks. He sounds like he’s trying to hide his hesitation. “I saw it on CNN so it must be true.”

“I only set up a Twitter account, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t do any of the work, I just talk about it.”

“Sometimes that’s enough,” Liam says. Louis thinks he might be right. “I’m sorry for just showing up unannounced. Again. But I wasn’t happy with how we left things this morning?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. He gestures for Liam to take a seat on his couch, and Louis flumps onto the couch after him, half on top of him just because he can, leaning up against his shoulder so he can pretend he’s watching Nacho instead of trying not to look at Liam.

He doesn’t know how to just ask him _directly_ because he doesn’t know what exactly to ask him. Everything he’s scripted suddenly feels trite, or like it’s not enough. So he asks him everything else but what he should.

“Did you know that my name is actually Lou-ee?”

“Yeah, your mom told me,” Liam says easily.

Louis rolls his eyes and mutters, “God, she gets around.”

“You brought her to your first Correspondents Dinner. It was sweet.”

"You never said anything."

Liam shrugs, jostling Louis a little. Louis throws a quick glare up at him to indicate he shouldn’t make any sudden movements. "Neither did you, so I figured you didn't like it."

"Would you call me Lou-ee if I asked you to?"

"Of course."

Louis smiles and pats at his chest. That’s the right answer.

He’s hit by this wave of disappointment, wonders if Liam feels it too.

“Did you also know that Galapagos Marine Iguanas sneeze on each other because of evolution?”

“What?” Liam laughs.

“And did you also know,” Louis says, shifting so he can see Liam’s face, “that they’re kicking me out next year?”

“Misconduct?” Liam guesses.

“No, apparently, they’re going to give my job someone younger, hipper, and, god willing, still liberal,” Louis says. “You may have missed out in whatever hole you’ve been living in, but there’s an election in a few weeks.”

“I did know that,” Liam says. “I read all of the Press Secretary’s briefings online.”

Louis swallows hard, ramping up to give one of the more important speeches of his life, even though it's to an audience of one.

"I thought it was really easy to keep saying maybe next time and leave it at that," Louis starts slowly. "And it's not. Because what if we get to the point where we just stop saying it? And there is no next time?"

"We won't," Liam says.

"But we might. So we have to guard against that. If that's what you want."

"I want that," Liam answers immediately. "I'm sorry if I haven't been blindingly obvious, but I really really want that. You. Is that what you want?"

“We’re not ready yet,” Louis says, even though it’s hard to. “But you should know that when we are, the very _second_ we are ready, I’m coming for you, Payno.”

Liam raises his eyebrows, clearly pleased. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re it for me, I think.”

“You’re that sure, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“You play with live ammo,” Liam muses.

“I do.” He leans up and steals a kiss from him. And then a second one.

“I’ll fight harder for you,” Liam promises, resting his forehead to Louis’. "When we're ready, I won't stop. I'll come to you, you'll come to me. We'll take time."

Louis closes his eyes and breathes with him. He doesn't often wish his life was simple, mostly because he's sure he would be bored to pieces, but he does wish he had more time. They might both have more time.

Louis' phone starts to ring, and Louis groans at it in response.

"Go to work," Liam says, and he pulls away like he's letting Louis knows he's not going to fight when Louis isn't ready for him to.

“Maybe next time?” Liam says, his hand on the door.

“Definitely,” Louis says and watches him go.

\----

 

**Author's Note:**

> Couple of things.  
> 1\. Heads up (if you're checking this bit pre-reading) for what could be considered a Very Simplified portrayal of the Iran Deal - it's serious business, but I figure nobody wants me to wade too deep into that. The Iran Deal Twitter is indeed a [Real Thing](http://twitter.com/theirandeal), but honestly I imagine Louis' version is a little more... useful and engaging.  
> 2\. Yes, #theotherwestwingau was brought to my attention while I was writing this. I haven't read it as of posting this, but now that this is done, I definitely will!  
> 3\. Here is [the video](https://vimeo.com/31651132) Harry will send Louis a few hours after this fic ends of the sneezing Galapagos Marine Iguanas.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! If you need me, I'm [here](http://wickershire.tumblr.com/post/127186524743/title-maybe-this-time-rating-general-pairings).


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